IN THE FAMILY CIRCLE
After some time, he introduced me to his entire family. He brought me to their home near Bagenalstown—a modest white bungalow nestled amid gently rolling fields and hedgerows. Along the way, small houses dotted the countryside, with sheep or cattle grazing peacefully nearby during the day.
The house itself was humble, with only four rooms. The smallest, a sparsely furnished pantry, belonged to him. It held only a narrow bed, a wardrobe, and a small window. He took me there at night, once the rest of the household had gone to sleep. In the dim light, he showed me photographs of his son. I hadn't known then that guests were rarely brought into the family home—it was only later that I learned this from others. He never explained it himself.
He had been raised in a traditional Catholic household, which was typical in Ireland. Unmarried couples were expected to sleep in separate rooms, or at the very least, in separate beds. Yet that night, Jack quietly led me into his room and lay beside me. I couldn't sleep. I stayed close, gently stroking his hair, simply relishing his presence. I adored him deeply—every inch of his skin was familiar to me, his scent deeply ingrained in my memory. There was a strange comfort in holding him, in watching him drift into sleep within my arms.
At the same time, I was still trying to understand who he truly was. He remained an enigma to me—elusive, like a shadow. He seldom spoke about himself, and that silence only deepened my curiosity. I longed to understand him, to break through the quiet fortress he had built around his heart.
The next morning, I was awakened by voices coming from the kitchen. I froze, panic rising in my chest. How on earth am I going to get out of here now? Jack was no longer in the room. I sat silently, waiting for him to return.
When he finally appeared, he whispered, “Get dressed and come with me.”
I sat up groggily, my hair a mess, blinking against the harsh daylight pouring through the door. If he thought I was going to meet his family looking like this, he was sorely mistaken—but I had little choice unless I intended to hide under the covers all day. With a reluctant sigh, I got dressed and followed him, inwardly bracing myself. I loathed family introductions; I always wished I could disappear into the earth.
In the kitchen, his mother sat at the large dining table, surrounded by her daughters and son. His father stood at the stove, wearing an apron and stirring something in a large pot. I hadn’t realized it was already lunchtime. I lingered uncertainly in the doorway and offered a shy greeting, feeling the weight of their curious eyes upon me.
“This is Teri,” Jack said, offering no further explanation before sitting down at the table. Judging by their surprised expressions, it seemed he hadn’t mentioned me to them beforehand. But slowly, conversation began to flow, and the initial awkwardness began to dissipate.
“Hi, I’m Caoimhe,” said a red-haired, freckled girl about my age, flashing a warm smile.
“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Teri,” I replied, my nerves easing slightly.
Caoimhe continued the introductions. “This is Loraine, and that’s Sean,” she said, pointing to her sister and brother.
“And these are Mom and Dad,” Jack added, smiling.
Fred, his father, struck me as a kind man, with playful eyes and a shock of grey hair that gave him a certain charm. He busied himself at the stove, wearing a comically oversized apron, preparing what I later learned was Sunday dinner. His wife sat quietly at the table, composed and observant. She was a sturdy woman, likely close to my mother’s age, but her face bore the marks of time more heavily. Her hair was jet black, cropped short, and her eyes were dark and unreadable, like sloes. Her quiet presence made me feel strangely self-conscious.
Loraine was the most talkative, often vying with Caoimhe in animated conversation. The two of them reminded me of a pair of lively lizards, quick-witted and full of life.
“So, where are you from?” Fred asked with genuine curiosity.
“I’m from the Czech Republic,” I answered, trying to sound confident.
“Ah... you’ll have to tell us all about it,” he said, as he began serving lunch—plates of boiled bacon, potatoes, stewed cabbage, and rich gravy. I stared at the meal with fascination, having never seen such a combination before.
As we ate, conversation turned to life in the Czech Republic and to my work.
“Well, we have plenty of... well, Polish lads at the company,” Fred remarked. “Nice fellas. I imagine the customs must be quite similar to yours. Do you have any siblings?”
He peppered me with questions, but to my surprise, the conversation wasn’t as difficult as I’d feared. Jack’s family welcomed me warmly, and soon I felt like I belonged. Still, his mother’s quiet gaze unsettled me. I couldn’t tell what she truly thought of me. She was as enigmatic as her son—offering only a faint, secretive smile and no words.
Not long after, I finally met little Julian. Jack brought him to the Manor House for lunch so we could be introduced. Julian was a small boy with wide, thoughtful eyes—adorable, but unusually reserved. He didn’t laugh or smile when I made silly faces, as other children often did. It was as though he didn’t know how to express emotion.
Even so, we connected almost immediately. He remembered my name, and Jack later told me that he would sometimes repeat it at home, as if trying to summon me. That alone made me feel as though I had reached him.
copyright©2025
Žádné komentáře:
Okomentovat